A wish 5 minutes to midnight
by subseeker
Summary: What would you do if you realize… you're in love. With the only person you can't have. Ever. Make a wish…? Yup, I suck at summaries. No news there ;-)
1. Chapter 1

John stared at the glass in his hand that was filled with golden-brown liquid, like it held all the answers to his future. Sighing heavily, he lifted the glass to his lips and drowned its content. It wasn't his first drink tonight and it sure as hell wouldn't be his last one.

He glanced at his watch – 11:15 p.m. – and then out of the window. The first people were starting to prepare the street, putting fireworks in every possible form to every free spot. Kids were running around, already throwing snap'n pops and waving sparklers. Too much good mood out there for his taste.

Turning around his eyes searched for the bottle of Whiskey he'd left somewhere in the living room. He found it on the sideboard beside the phone, right were he left it when his mom had called. Padding over, he grabbed it and refilled the glass.

His mother had called to make sure he was okay. Well, he was okay, as far as possible under the circumstances. Not that he'd told her what was "wrong". She asked if he was okay, he'd told her that, yes, he was okay, only to be told that she didn't believe it, because he in fact was drunk and alone and not willed to be with his family on New Year's Eve. He explained that he just needed some time for himself because of some "issues" and she made him promise to stay at home tonight – safe.

Oh, he was drunk. Drunk like a sailor. The bottle was almost empty and its content already busy in his blood stream to make him, well, happy. And the next bottle was already waiting to be opened. He needed some happy time. Really. No matter how bad the hangover would be. Tomorrow would be his third hangover in… John narrowed his eyes, trying to remember… yup, four days and since he was alone with his "issues" and it was New Year's Eve, he planned on shooting himself into oblivion… to forget.

Back to his happy time. Nodding to himself he emptied his glass and hissed as the Whiskey burned its way down. He probably should have eaten something, but he lacked of appetite lately. The reason why his dinner was still sitting untouched on the kitchen table.

John looked around absentmindedly. His living room was a mess, he realized even through his drunken haze. But there was nobody around who would worry about it anyway and he would have enough time to clean up tomorrow. Or the day after, depending on how bad the hangover would be. His gaze drifted over to the small table by the door that carried his wallet, keys and a small picture, framed by a simple but nice black frame.

Cursing himself he tried to ignore that his eyes began to burn suspiciously and that he felt his stomach turn – he should have put the picture out of view, at least until he would have come to terms with himself. Should have, but didn't. It still was there, an innocent little picture that now sent a wave of agonizing pain through him.

Turning away, John tried to choke back a sob. He didn't want to cry again, he'd done that enough in the last few weeks when he was on his own and especially in the last three days. It was no use, he needed to put the picture aside. Slowly he walked over and picked it up, sadly taking in the image it showed.

It showed Randy and him. A picture taken by Sam during their adventurous attempt to build a swimming pool for Sam and Alanna. She'd taken it without them noticing it, while he and Randy were arguing about how the parts of the pool should be put together, with him waving the construction plan around and Randy rolling his eyes and feigning to hit him with a screwdriver, pieces and parts of the pool scattered around everywhere. They looked like an old married couple on this picture. John couldn't help it, but the picture was perfect. It was… them.

Pressing his lips together tightly he tried to fight down the pain that flared up every time he thought about Randy. It wasn't Randys fault, never had been.

Randy was handsome, well-built, intelligent, funny, caring, loyal, honest and no one else knew John as good as Randy did and over the years of their friendship he'd somehow developed a little crush on his best friend. It had been okay, nothing serious. Okay until… well, until John simply overestimated himself. Too many drinks after a House-Show that had made them both too light-headed…

_He found Randy in the hotel bar, sitting in a dimmed corner of the room at a small table, two beers in front and an empty chair beside him. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, small lines of worry showing on his handsome face. John walked over to sit down on the empty chair and grabbed one of the beers. Randy looked up and the lines of worry morphed to a dazzling smile._

"_You're late, Cena. You hopped into the shower right after me. What took you so long?"_

"_Guess the hot water. It felt so damn good that I took my time. Didn't know I'm that late," he answered, smiling back._

_They talked about random stuff that night, one beer following the next, accompanied by some shots of Whiskey. Nothing special. Then they fell silent, the sounds around them faded into the background and John found himself unable to __look away from those eyes he'd seen uncountable times before. There was something in them he'd never seen before, something he couldn't name as Randy stared right back at him, his gaze not once flicking away and John felt himself drawn in… felt his heart begin to pound heavily in his chest…_

_A voice made them snap back to reality. It was Morrison, cheering for Evan who was dancing on a table. John willed himself to keep his eyes on the kid while he tried to figure out what had happened a few seconds ago. He failed, not able to think straight anymore, and decided to take it as a really weird moment. He was drunk and tired. He should go to bed._

"_I'm gonna go up to catch some sleep," he said, turning around only to find Randy already standing, ready to go._

"_Me too. Was a long night. Let's go."_

_Their way back to their shared room was accompanied by silence. Waiting for the elevator to stop on the right level John side-gazed his friend. Randy was leaning in the corner of the small room, eyes closed and arms crossed. His fingers dug into his biceps's and a finger scratched nervously over the tattooed skin. The small lines of worry were back, John noticed and he was about to ask if everything was alright, when the elevator stopped and opened its doors._

_After finally reaching their room, John excused himself and went for the bath room, leaving the door open instead of switching on the light. He peeled out of his shirt and braced himself on the bath room counter, staring into the mirror, before he opened the tap, leaning down to splash some water on his face. Reaching blindly for a towel he straightened up… and bumped into a body. His eyes shot open. _

"_What…?" he began but fell silent when he saw Randy standing right behind him._

_The younger man just stood there, straightened up to his full height. The heavily inked arms were hanging at his sides and his bare torso was pressed up against Johns back. His friends skin felt hot on his own, too hot, John noticed. The semi-darkness guarded Randys eyes and features and his whole presence would have been intimidating if John hadn't known him so well. But John felt his heart rate speed up nevertheless, feeling suddenly extremely self-conscious under his friends stare._

"_You..." John rasped, finally finding his voice, but Randy hushed him with a slight shake of his head._

_Slowly the younger man leaned down, close to his ear and his breath brushed over the skin of Johns neck, making him shudder involuntary. _

"_I want you," Randy whispered huskily._

_He thought that he'd probably misheard Randy, but then the younger man rolled his hips against Johns backside, pressing his obviously hard dick in the small of Johns back, making his heart stumble and his breath hitch. His friend leaned even closer to bury his nose in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath._

"_You smell so good, Johnny," came another whisper._

_A sudden touch on his sides made the older men gasp. Randys fingers brushed over his sides but stopped immediately when he felt John tense up under his touch. Randy took his hands away, straightened up and stepped back a bit, giving John __some space. Enough space to leave and John got the hint. To his own surprise he didn't try to back out but reached behind his back and guided Randys hands back to his body, which moved to rest on his stomach, right above the waistline of his jeans. Those well known hands that felt so hot right now and somehow alien at the same time, causing goose bumps to flare. The younger man stepped forward again, pressing his whole body against__ Johns._

_John watched in the mirror as a predatory gleam flashed through the stormy-blue eyes._

"_Your clothes… Off," Randy commanded, voice low and demanding._

_John obeyed, slipping out of his jeans and boxers slowly and watched as his friend did the same and a blink later he was pushed forwards roughly, his thighs hitting the counter painfully. The feeling of Randys hard dick pressing against his ass made him moan and his friend growled lowly in response, rolling his hips. He felt his friends hands sneak back, nails scraping lightly over his sides to his abs and then down._

_A sudden wave of dizziness washed through John as a hand closed around his dick and he leaned heavily on the counter. He felt himself grow hard under the touch and a strangled groan escaped his lips, as Randy began to move his hand up and down expertly, drawing little moans and whimpers from him._

"_Randy," he whispered breathlessly._

"_You like that, Johnny, don't you?" Randy chuckled lowly and all John could do was nod._

_After a few more fast jerks, the hand on his cock vanished and from the corner of his eyes he saw Randy grab the body lotion. Closing his eyes he tried to wrap his mind around the thought that his best friend was going to fuck him, that he allowed him do this. Randy was going to fuck him. Randy was going to…_

_A sharp gasp of pain escaped his mouth as a finger was pushed against his entrance and into his body._

"_Relax, Johnny. Trust me."_

_And then he felt Randys hand back on his dick, his movements matching the thrusts of his finger and the pain morphed to pleasure, the pained gasps becoming moans as a second finger was added, then a third and his sweet spot was stroked with every thrust. Through his haze he felt the fingers vanish and something bigger push against his entrance._

_John reached back, wanting to feel Randys hot skin under his fingers, but his hand was slapped away._

"_Put your hand back on the counter," the younger man growled._

"_But..." John protested weakly, but Randy cut him off._

"_Put. It. Back."_

_He did as he was told, just in time to feel Randys free hand grip his waist. Holding him in place, his friend buried himself to the hilt in Johns tight heat with one mighty thrust that made John cry out in pain. A stifled sob tore from his throat. The younger man kept still, giving Johns body the time to relax and become accustomed to him._

_Finally the pain subsided and John dared to nod ever so slightly, giving Randy his okay to move. Continuing his movements on Johns cock Randy began to thrust, slowly first then picking up the pace, sliding in and out his new lovers body._

_The room was filled with only their heavy breathing and low moans and occasional grunts. John willed his mind to focus on the hand working on his member, but the pain he felt with every single thrust was too much to ignore it. He closed his eyes tightly and hung his head, trying to concentrate on the good feelings._

_It was when he felt Randy slow down a moment and change the angle of his thrusts, that a strangled moan escaped his lips, as his lover found his sweet spot again. A low chuckle and a tighter grip on his hip was the only warning he got, before Randy started a violent rhythm, pounding into his sweet spot with every stroke, over and over again, until John found himself arch back to meet his lover. _

_John looked up, his dazed mind taking in their image in the mirror. Those intense, mind-numbing feelings spiked as he watched Randy dominating him, driving forcefully inside him and he felt them grow to an earth-shattering pleasure, drawing mewls and whimpers and moans from him that accompanied Randys._

_For a second their eyes locked, before Randy leaned forward, his lips hovering over the spot were Johns should met his neck for a moment, before he sunk his teeth in the thick muscle, growling as John rewarded him with a small cry of pain… and then John felt himself fall apart. His whole body tightened as a wave of liquid fire surged through him and he came, the overwhelming feeling of a mind-blowing orgasm drawing out a long, low, needy moan. He felt Randy ease out and plunge in deeply a few times more, so hard that his balls slapped against Johns ass, before he followed, shooting his cum deep inside his lovers body._

_Randy sunk forward, still buried deep inside his lovers body and resting his head on Johns __shoulder. John tried to brace himself on shaky arms and legs and he felt one arm being wrapped around his waist, while one large hand settled beside his on the counter, holding him up, holding him tight. He was trying to breathe, his pants coming in sharp gasps. For a few moments they stayed like this. Then the arm around his waist vanished and Randy pulled away. The older man didn't have to look up to know that Randy had left the room._

_Still bracing himself on the counter, head bowed, John found himself unable to move. His head spun as his mind tried to process what had happened and he tried to calm down his breathing. He could still feel Randys hands on his skin, his breath brushing his neck. Something between a mirthless laugh and a sob escaped Johns throat as he admitted to himself that this had been the best sex in his whole life and he now found himself torn between embarrassment, sadness and savouring the aftermath of their encounter._

_Slowly he straightened up, noticing__ a dull pain where his thighs had __hit the counter and Randys hand had gripped his hip. There would be bruises tomorrow… His eyes flicked to his image in the mirror, finding the bite mark that would last at least the next three days. He reached up to touch the tender skin… and then suddenly a pang of guilt rang through him. What he saw was a man who had slept with his best, male, married friend. This was so poor…_

_John grimaced as he felt something sticky on his stomach and on his thigh__ and shook himself out of his thoughts. He cleaned himself up and, after a few more moments of hesitation, finally found the guts to follow Randy. Their room was dark except for a small lamp on the nightstand by Johns bed, its light barely reaching Randy who was lying on his side, face turned towards Johns bed. His eyes were closed and the older man wondered if his friend was already fast asleep but decided not to bother him. Carefully he sat down on the edge of his bed. His ass was already giving him an idea of how funny he would walk the next day. Sighing silently he hung his head. _

"_You okay, Johnny?"_

_The low voice sounded worried and unnaturally loud in the silence of their room. Startled the older man looked up into eyes that were filled with the same worry. _

"_You're married, Randy. You have a daughter. We shouldn't have done it," John answered quietly, suddenly feeling almost unbearably guilty._

"_We probably shouldn't. But… I… I can't explain it. All I know is that it has nothing to do with Sam," his friend murmured. "It's just sex. I wanted you. Still want you. Just sex, John. Nothing more, nothing less."_

_There were so many things wrong with Randys last statement. _

"_Are there… others?"_

_John needed to ask this. _

"_No others. Just you."_

_He knew Randy long enough to know that this was the truth and somehow it made him feel special. John tried his best to shove the growing guilt aside. It would be hard enough to go on like nothing happened. He hung his head again._

"_If you tell me you don't want it to happen again, it's okay. We're friends and nothing's gonna change that. Not even sex," Randy said reassuringly. "Hey, Johnny… look at me."_

_This was so wrong. Still he looked up again._

"_Just sex?" he asked and Randy nodded._

"_Just sex."_

_They fell silent and John climbed under his blanket, switching off the light. His brain still refused to work properly, half clouded by the amount of alcohol, half dazed by their… encounter. It would have been a lie to say the sex hadn't been incredible and he wouldn't want it again, but Sam and Alanna…This all was so damn wrong. And he was scared that tomorrow morning, when they both were sober again, this one night would destroy everything…_

_A soft snore told him that Randy had fallen asleep. He turned over, pressing his face into his pillow as he tried to fight down a wave of sadness, fear and guilt…_

A sharp, burning pain in his hand brought him back to reality. A few disorientated seconds later he realized that he was at home and that his left hand was bleeding badly. His glass was broken, shards of glass were fallen onto the floor, some bits of broken glass stuck in his hand and he was bleeding from a few cuts on his palm.

"Shit!" he swore loudly, picking the shards out of his hand.

Making his way to the kitchen, he grabbed the remaining Whiskey. He held his hand over the sink, rinsing the cuts with it and swore again loudly as the alcohol burned in the wounds. After a few deep breaths he grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it around his hand. He needed some fresh air.

Wandering back into the living room he grabbed a new bottle and made his way to the front door to sit down on the stairs. The air was cold, much too cold to sit here without a jacket, but he didn't care.

More and more people came to chat on the street, waiting for the new years to come. John hoped that it would be a better year than the past one…

He caught himself thinking back again, but he couldn't help it. John had stopped to count how often they did it a while ago and their first time was something he would always remember. Every single moment. Their friendship didn't change a bit… well, okay, it changed to best friends with benefits, but it was like it was said – just sex. Their encounters were always rough and only few words were spoken. No tender touches. No kisses.

Yeah, he had a crush on his best friend, but he didn't love him. This was no love. This was just sex. It had nothing to do with love, he could do it, keep it just sex, John had told himself countless times after that night and he managed to convince himself of it. It had worked for weeks and months – until John realized that something was missing. Even when they just hung out. Something was missing.

He noticed this feeling the first time a few weeks ago and it grew and grew. He couldn't name it but it was there. Sometimes it takes little gestures to make you understand, right? Four days ago he finally _understood_.

It was the last House-Show this year and they shared rooms, like always. And they fucked. Like always. He caught himself as he tried to kiss Randy, who turned his head away, avoiding the kiss. It was then that it hit him. Don't make such agreements when you have a crush on that very person. He should have known that it was only a matter of time until he would want more. Falling in love with your married best friend wasn't a good idea.

Randy didn't mention that almost kiss, acting like it had never happened. John closed his eyes tightly to hold back the tears that stung in his eyes. He somehow managed to open the Whiskey and took a hearty gulp. The sounds around him became louder as more and more people came out. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to midnight. Leaning back on his elbows he let his eyes roam the dark sky.

The night was crystal clear and the night sky was dotted with shining, blinking stars. A living picture that spoke of the past, the presence and the future, being all of it in this very moment. A picture that makes you feel small and unimportant. It was beautiful. But it didn't help to ease or drown Johns pain.

His plan had been to have some time for himself to get things straight, to remind himself of what was important – their friendship. The way it had been before all this. He'd probably never failed that much in his entire life. Everything in him screamed for his friend, every single memory giving his tortured mind a badly needed fix and unbearable pain at the same time.

John knew that it wasn't okay, that he had no right to want it, but... god knew he'd give anything if he could have Randy… or to forget his damn feelings for his friend.

A movement caught his attention. A falling star. Make your wish. That's what you should do if you see one, right?

_I wished Randy could love me back._


	2. Chapter 2

o

John knew that it wasn't okay, that he had no right to want it, but... god knew he'd give anything if he could have Randy… or to forget his damn feelings for his friend.

A movement caught his attention. A falling star. Make your wish. That's what you should do if you see one, right?

_I wished Randy could love me back._

It was a silly and selfish wish, he knew that, but his heart wished that Randy would leave Sam to be with him. There was no way this would ever happen. Being fuck-buddies is one thing… being in love is something completely different. And Randy loved his girls. Really, _really_ loved those two.

The decision to make a stop to this hadn't been easy and he remembered the moment like it had happened only few minutes ago, though it had already been three days since then.

_The air was filled with happy chattiness, laughing and the sounds of cars leaving the parking lot. They were back from the last House-Show for the year and everyone was getting their stuff to go home for the holidays._

_John stood by the seat he'd been sitting during the bus-ride, searching for his cell, when a low, oh so well-known voice beside his ear made him jump._

"_I wish you nice holidays, Johnny."_

_The older man didn't turn around, murmured instead: "Uh, thanks. Same for you."_

_He kept searching the seats and storage rooms, finally finding his cell under some magazine._

"_How about I come over for a visit on New Year?" Randy whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist, but John backed out of his touch, bringing some space between them._

_Randy narrowed his eyes and took a step in his direction, but John held out a hand, stopping him. He shook his head slightly, not really knowing how to start._

"_Listen, uhm…" he began reluctantly. "This has to stop."_

_Arching an eyebrow, the younger man asked: "What?"_

"_Us," John replied, glad that they were alone on the bus. "No, not us. I mean, not us being friends…but the sex. Hell, Randy. You're married, you have a daughter. I can't do this anymore."_

"_We've talked about this already, John. Why…?"_

_Again John shook his head._

"_No, that's not what I meant. It's my fault, I..." he interrupted himself, sighing defeated. "I want more, Randy. But I don't want to lose you as a friend. You know, I just need a few days to get things straight. But if we keep this up, I won't be able to… stop myself from wanting more."_

"_John, what the hell are you talking about?" Randy whispered, obviously not able to understand what exactly was happening._

"_Just friends, Randy, that's what we are, like we used to be. Nothing more, nothing less," he explained through gritted teeth, willing the tears that stung in his eyes to not fall._

_He saw his friend reach out to him and flinched, again backing away from the touch. Eyes, big and full of confusion, watched his slow and sad retreat and he couldn't bear it any longer. Turning away he left the bus. His name was called, the low voice sounding questioningly and hollow. It hadn't been the way John thought of telling his friend his decision, but now it was done. It was over and all John wanted and hoped for was to go back to what they had been before all this shit – being best friends. Making his way to his car he tried to ignore the pain and sadness that surged up._

He didn't turn around that night, didn't want to see his friends questioning, hurt eyes again. He wouldn't have been able to leave. They both knew it wasn't a final end to their friendship, only to this part of their relationship that had gone a step too far. It had been the only right thing to do. Randy would realize it sooner or later.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the shining golden dots he tried to blank his mind, to stop thinking for just one moment but like so often in the past days he failed. Happy voices all around him started to count down, cheered as the new year arrived and the firework started, lighting up the dark sky and drowning the bright stars in the colourful, sparkling lights it gave.

While John stared up in the brightly lit sky, he pressed his lips together tightly to stop the pained sobs that threatened to come over his lips, accompanying the hot tears that spilled from his eyes. The more he tried to forget what he felt for his friend, the stronger his feelings became. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted this madness to stop somehow, _somehow_, wanted the pain to go away. But it was too late, the moment were his crush had grown to serious feelings and were he maybe could have done something about it was long gone, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

_This can't be…_ he thought desperately. _Oh god, this can't be…_

And time seemed to stop, keeping him prisoner in his miserable situation…

"John?"

Startled John looked up, eyes wide. His heart sped up, stumbled, skipped a beat and settled to pound almost painfully in his chest. His mind tried to convince him that this couldn't be.

"Randy?" he whispered, not believing his eyes.

He reached out with his good hand, letting his fingertips touch the well-known face. This was real. Randy was here. Why the hell would he be here? John drew his hand back quickly, but Randy caught it, holding it gently.

"I'm late. Sorry," the younger man apologized, a small smile gracing his lips. "I wanted to be here in time, but I had to drive slow. There were too many people on the streets. I really wanted to start the new year here with you…"

Johns eyes flicked from Randys eyes to their hands and back to those beloved eyes. There were so many questions that wanted to be asked in that very moment, but John settled for the one question that seemed the most important right now.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Randys smile wavered but he managed to hold it up. It was enough for John to know that something was wrong and whatever it was, it was the reason why Randy was here. The stormy-blue eyes roamed Johns face and Randy was obviously not happy with what he saw. Especially when his eyes roamed deeper and caught the sight of his hurt hand. The younger man released Johns good hand and took hold of the wrapped up instead, holding it carefully. The smile morphed into a deep frown.

"Johnny, what the hell happened?"

John noticed the worry in his friends voice and while a part of him was happy that Randy was here and worried about him, the other part reminded him that a) he shouldn't make his friend worry about him and b) Randy shouldn't even be _here_ to worry about him.

"Randy, why are you here?" John repeated, deciding to ignore Randys question.

Randys frown deepened, but he still didn't give an explanation. Instead he began to unwrap the towel and held Johns hand tight but gentle, when the older man tried to pull it back. The towel was pretty much bloodstained and the cuts on his hand somehow seemed to be deeper as John remembered them to be.

"What the hell did you do?"

The older man watched as his friends fingers ghosted over the healthy skin, as they prodded his hand carefully to examine the extend of the damage.

"Look at me," Randy demanded, but John kept his eyes on his own hand. "Damn, John, I want you to look at me!"

Grabbing Johns chin, Randy made him look up and those cold, stormy-blue eyes searched Johns, as if trying to read his mind. Then they softened and Randys hand wandered up to cup his face.

"I broke a glass and obviously cut my hand. Now go home."

"John…"

"I said, go home. You shouldn't be here, Randy," John cut him off.

For a brief moment there was a flicker of pain in his friends eyes, before the worried expression was back. Randy shook his head.

"Let's go in. The cuts need to be cleaned and wrapped up in a bandage."

Randy got up, pulling a reluctant John with him and had to catch him when he threatened to keel over. John tried to fight down the dizziness and to free himself from Randys arms, but his friend didn't let got and pulled him closer instead. Hating himself for being so weak, the older man surrendered and leaned against the body in front of him.

"How much did you have tonight?" Randy asked quietly, his warm breath brushing over Johns neck, making him shudder.

"Not enough."

John pulled away and swayed instantly. A second later he found himself wrapped up in one arm again, while Randys free hand closed around his biceps to hold him up.

"Okay, that's it, Johnny. No more alcohol tonight. You're gonna go to bed after I'm done with your hand."

"I don't need you to treat me like a baby, Orton!"

"Then don't make me treat you like one."

They fell silent, standing there frozen like a still-life and highlighted by the fireworks. John glared daggers at his friend for being annoyingly calm and earned nothing but a amused huff.

"You're swaying, you're slurring and you're cross-eyed. Neither are you impressing nor intimidating, so save it and move your ass, Cena."

Randy steered a still swaying and unwilling John through the front door and stopped dead. Unbelieving he took in the unusual mess, formerly known as living-room, letting his gaze flick over to the kitchen that showed the same picture.

"What the hell…?" he murmured. "You're house is a mess."

"Who cares?" the older man muttered, trying to free himself out of Randys grasp.

"Well, newsflash, John. I do and… what's…"

The grip on Johns wrist vanished when Randy seemed to have found something of interest on the floor. Randy walked over, picking up the picture of them. The frame was broken, pieces were missing. The younger man stood there, his posture somehow tense, staring at the remains.

"It's broken," he whispered, stating the obvious.

John wasn't sure if it was due to his alcohol-dazed perception or if he'd seen right, but he could have sworn he'd seen a brief flicker of sadness cross the handsome features and he realized that it must've seemed to his friend as if the picture had been shattered on purpose. He frowned. The picture had been perfectly fine the last time he'd seen it – in his hand.

Suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to apologize and he settled for the only logical explanation: "I must have dropped it when I cut my hand."

Randy didn't look up. Carefully he freed the picture from the remaining pieces of the frame, letting them drop to the floor to accompany the other shards and slowly, almost tenderly ran a thumb over the picture, before placing it on the small table. Turning around, he held out a hand to John, his face unreadable.

"Let's get you patched up."

Silence filled the bath room while Randy worked on Johns hand. John sat on the rim of the tub with Randy was kneeling in front of him. Randys eyes were narrowed in concentration, lips pressed together tightly, as he removed a few tiny pieces of glass and cleaned the wounds and - thanks to the alcohol – John felt no pain. He watched as Randy began to wrap up his hand and he had a hard time not to squirm. The silence felt suffocating and his friends face revealed nothing.

"You shouldn't be here, Randy. You should be with your family."

"You repeat yourself," Randy muttered, continuing his task.

"Go home."

The muscles of Randys jaw twitched, but he gave no other reaction.

"Go home," John repeated.

"No."

"Go. Home."

"No," the younger man ground out through gritted teeth, obviously losing his temper.

"Go! Home!" John snapped and tried to pull his hand away.

Randy didn't let go and held on more tightly instead, giving more pressure to the injured hand than necessary and this time John felt the pain, making him cry out. Then suddenly Randy jumped up, pushing, almost slapping Johns hand away and took a few quick steps over to the opposite wall, slamming his fists against it.

"God damn, Cena! WHY do you have to be so ANNOYING? WHY can't you STOP being such a pain in the ass?" Randy growled without turning around.

"Because," John said, although he knew even through his dazed mind he should keep his mouth shut, "You. Shouldn't. Be. Here."

Randy braced his arms against the wall and leaned his forehead against the cool tiles. His shoulders were tense and John noticed that he was drawing deep, heavy breaths, trying to calm down. John had seen this uncountable times before, though it had never been his fault – until now.

"I am right were I want to be," he whispered sharply.

"No, you're not. And I don't want you here," John stated flatly and earned and mirthless laugh from his friend.

"I don't believe that, John. You just say that because you think it's the right thing to say. You don't really want me to go."

Silence fell once more for a few moments, until John muttered: "Go home."

The younger man sighed heavily, exasperated.

"I don't have a home to go to anymore," Randy said, anger gone from his voice, replaced by resignation. "I'm gonna clean up the mess out there," he added quietly and left the bath room, leaving a dumbfounded John behind.

For a couple of minutes all John did was staring at an invisible spot on the wall, suddenly feeling sober. He tried to process the message, but somehow his mind refused to accept it. Randy was here because he couldn't go back home. Why wouldn't he be able to go home to his girls?

_I am right were I want to be._

No, definitely not acceptable, all of it, not by any means. No matter how much his heart told him to be happy that Randy was here - with him. Closing his eyes he ran a hand over his face and went down. He needed some answers.

John crossed the living room and noticed that it could be called a room again. The biggest part was already cleaned up – the empty bottles and the glass on the floor were gone, the cushions of the couch and the magazines were back in order and his various carelessly scattered shirts were lying upon each other over the back of the couch. Wow, Randy was fast.

John followed the sounds that were coming from the kitchen and found his friend busy with washing up. Randy paused for a moment when he heard John come in, but then carried on without turning around. The older man sat down on the edge of the kitchen table and let his gaze roam over his friend.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"I told Sam everything," Randy replied, voice flat.

John hung his head and gripped the edge of the table tightly with his healthy hand. This was exactly what he'd never wanted to happen. It was his fault.

"Randy, I know I'm repeating myself, but you really should go home. I'm sure she'll give you a second chance if you try and talk to her again."

Randy put a plate down and dried his hands, before turning around to face John. His expression was strained and John knew that his friend was only a breath away from snapping. He didn't care right now, there were more important things that needed to be settled.

"There is nothing to talk about and I don't want a second chance," he explained slowly, eyes locked with Johns. "And she didn't kick me out."

Then he left the kitchen, again leaving John behind who opened his mouth to say something to stop him, but no words came out. Instead John stared after him for a short moment before he followed. If Sam hadn't kicked him out…

"Will you stop running away?"

"I'm not running," Randy growled, while picking up the pile of shirts. "I'm just trying to clean up the garbage dump you call a house."

John grabbed his shirt to stop him as the younger man passed him on his way to the utility room.

"This can wait, Randy."

"No, it can't."

"Hell yes, it can!" John yelled, grabbing the shirts only to throw them aside carelessly.

And then it happened. John literally heard the sound as Randy snapped.

Drawing himself up to full his full height Randy roared: "What are you, an asshole?"

John noticed the veins popping up on the younger mans neck and those stormy-blue eyes seemed even colder when Randy shot him a death glare and although his whole appearance was pretty much intimidating – it had no such effect on the older man.

"Uhm… I'm sorry to disappoint you… but I'm not scared, you know? Can we now talk about what happened?"

Randy stared at him, anger morphing to confusion to utter disbelieve, before turning away to walk over to the couch. With a heavy sigh he dropped onto the cushions, resting his head against the back of the couch. He felt suddenly very, very tired.

"Don't get me wrong, John, but you're drunk and it's late. Let's get some sleep and I promise to tell you everything, okay?"

"I feel sober enough and you can sleep later," John said, as he walked over to Randy, sitting down beside him.

"You're unbelievable," Randy muttered, defeated.


	3. Chapter 3

o

Randy stared at him, anger morphing to confusion to utter disbelieve, before turning away to walk over to the couch. With a heavy sigh he dropped onto the cushions, resting his head against the back of the couch. He felt suddenly very, very tired.

"Don't get me wrong, John, but you're drunk and it's late. Let's get some sleep and I promise to tell you everything, okay?"

"I feel sober enough and you can sleep later," John said, as he walked over to Randy, sitting down beside him.

"You're unbelievable," Randy muttered, defeated.

Side-gazing the younger man he waited for him to begin his report, but Randy only stared at the ceiling, lips pressed together in a thin line. Randy plucked at the cushion absentmindedly and after a few moments John took hold of his hand to stop him, making his friend tense.

"Didn't want to startle you, but you're making me nervous," the older man explained.

"I'm sorry," Randy murmured. "For everything."

John nodded but kept silent, waiting for his friend to continue.

"Yesterday morning… I told Sam everything."

"You already said that. But if she didn't kick you out, why…?"

Randy held up his free hand, silencing John. The older man noticed that Randy made no move to pull his hand out of Johns hold. It was good. It _felt_ good and John decided to keep Randys hand as long as his friend would let him.

"She was hurt and angry but she told me that she would give me a second chance because I cheated on her with a man, not with a woman. She said that I obviously needed something a woman couldn't give me and now, that I've had my fun, we could go back to being a normal family."

"Okay… but I still don't why you didn't take that second chance with her? You could have…"

"John… she insisted that I quit being friends with you."

Johns breath hitched and he felt a lump grow in his throat. Going back to being only friends, yes. Quit being friends… no. A life without his Randy? Never. Not possible. No way…

"Probably… you shouldn't have told her… She wouldn't have known and…" he muttered.

"No, John. Decisions and consequences. I decided to make a move on you because I wanted you. It was my decision. You know what? When you left the bus I was so damn confused… and began to brood. And things… fell into place. When you tried to kiss me I didn't let it happen because sex is one thing, but kisses… are something I only share with someone I'm in love with. Kisses are too intimate and I didn't want us to be more than just friends who have some fun. Then Sam told me to give you up and I realized…"

Randy fell silent, his gaze falling on their hands. John didn't dare to move, not even when he felt his friends hand move to intertwine their fingers and his heart jumped happily in his chest at the gesture. Randys tanned skin and Johns paler one looked ridiculously like Yin and Yang, the older man noticed.

"You know, I couldn't. I stood there, facing the mother of my daughter and the idea of a life without Sam hurt, but I simply couldn't imagine my life without you. No way."

"Alanna needs her parents," John somehow managed to say, completely and utterly shocked about this revelation.

John began to wonder if he was lying somewhere on the floor, comatose, and this was a alcohol intoxication induced hallucination. Well, it would be a pretty nice way to go, right?

"Yes, she does, but not the way it would be if my decision would have been to stay with Sam."

"What did you tell Alanna when you left?"

Randy flinched and John was immediately sorry for obviously causing him pain.

"She's with Sams parents since last week. We planned on being there on New Year's Eve, so… she doesn't know… Sam said she would tell her that I have to work. I'm gonna call Sam tomorrow and then we'll see…"

John watched the pained expression in those well-known, beloved icy eyes. He knew there was nothing more important in this world to Randy than his little sunshine and that this whole situation must be unbearably torturing for his friend. And he couldn't help but feel like Randy hadn't told him everything yet. He decided not to dig deeper right now though. Or to tell Randy that he felt way more than just friendship for him. Randy knew it anyway, John guessed.

He held Randys hand a little tighter instead and whispered: "You can count on me, no matter what. You know that, right?"

He tried to put his whole heart in those few words to make Randy know, _feel_ that he was not alone. The younger man looked up, nodding slightly.

"Thanks, Johnny," he replied quietly.

They looked at each other for a few heartbeats, like that first night at the hotel… unable to look away…

"Uhm," Randy cleared his throat, "it would be great if I could crash on your couch for a few days until I find a new apartment?"

The older man frowned.

"Why the couch? You know I have a guest room."

"Well, if I take the guest room I know I'll be too comfortable to find a new place anytime soon. So, the couch is great."

John arched an eyebrow, searching his friends face.

"Don't be ridiculous, Randy. One, I'm sure as hell not gonna watch you sleep on that couch when there's a guest room with a comfortable bed. Two, I'm not planning on having any guests in the near future anyway. Three, if it takes you a while to find a new place, so it be. You're NOT sleeping on the couch, you got me?"

Randy nodded again and a little smile grew on his handsome face. It was a genuine, relieved and somehow incredibly cute smile that made Johns heart flutter.

"Am I allowed to go and grab some sleep now?"

"Sure. Let's get your bed ready. But we're not done talking yet," John stated as he got up, sighing silently when he had to let go of Randys hand.

"Sir, yes, Sir," the younger man muttered fondly and rolled his eyes, but followed his friend to the guest room upstairs.

o

Sleep was far away though. Tossing and turning John tried to drift into oblivion but without success and for the last two hours his eyes were constantly seeking his alarm clock on the nightstand.

The whole thing was somehow surreal. You realize that you have a crush on your best friend - bad enough - who happens to be a man – not quite better - and married and a father and who is that for not available on the relationship market. Okay. Really bad thing to do. And suddenly this best friend tells you that he broke up with his wife because he couldn't imagine his life without you. Ooookay. Like some bad movie plot, right? Now what? Where did all this leave them?

It wasn't that easy. For one thing, up to this night he'd tried to avoid thinking about it too much, fearing he would realize it WAS more than just a crush. All he had wanted was to bury those obviously growing feelings for Randy. He could scrap this now. But summing up everything that had happened and what he felt and wanted… adding some common sense… there was no way denying it – he was head over heels in love…

Next thing, even _if_ this was mutual, it sure as hell wasn't the right time to analyze it any further. Randy had to deal with enough shit right now. And… there was still a small chance that he would decide to go back to Sam and Alanna.

He hoped that Randy wouldn't, but it wasn't a good idea to put too much heart in it right now. Right? Right.

_Then why can't I stop hoping he's gonna stay? _

John huffed bitterly and crawled out of his bed. He'd lost the battle already the moment he tried to find some sleep and started to think instead.

Shuffling over to the guest room, he found the door a crack open and slipped in. It was almost completely dark since the blinds were barely open, but the little light that slipped through was enough for him to make out Randys sprawled form on the bed, seemingly fast asleep.

He stood and watched, listening to the even breaths of his friend, not sure what to do. It wasn't fair to wake Randy for no reason, since they _could_ talk later and he was about to turn around and go back to his own room, when Randy murmured his name. The unexpected sound in the silence made him jump.

"Sorry, didn't wanna wake you," John apologized.

"You didn't. I was already awake. Can't sleep. You?"

"No."

Silence fell again for a few moments, until Randy spoke again.

"I was so damn arrogant…"

Randys voice was heavily laced with sadness, guilt and anger in the darkness, making John want to hold his friend close and tell him that everything would be alright again. But he stayed where he was and kept quiet, waiting for whatever was about to come.

"I hurt Sam and you, just because I thought I could have it all. I didn't even lose a damn single thought about the consequences."

Maybe it was the cover of the darkness or probably he couldn't bear it any longer to keep it to himself, but Randy started to tell John what he obviously hadn't wanted to before they went to bed.

"Sam is good looking, intelligent, funny, caring, I always loved her. But with her I always have to be the perfect husband. With you it's different. There was a moment when I looked at you and suddenly… huh… I don't know how long I tried to bury these feelings… When I'm with you, everything is so easy. You make me feel alive," the younger man explained quietly, guilt and anger washed away from his voice, leaving only sadness behind.

"I… uhm…" John stammered, trying to say something but failed miserably.

Randy only barked a mirthless little laugh, just like he hadn't notice Johns poor attempt of a reply.

"It's weird, but one moment your annoying attitudes make me want to punch some sense into you and the next moment you calm me down just like that. I can snap and I don't need to think twice if you feel threatened. You put up with my temper and my foul moods. You make me laugh, even in the shittiest situations. Hell, there were times when everything came crashing down on me, but you were there, picking up the pieces and making me whole again. I can be who I really am… I found myself craving for your attention in every way possible… I… huh… I fell in love with you somewhere along the line and tried to deny it the whole time. I guess… I never loved her as much as I love you…"

Randy paused, maybe now waiting for John to finally say something, but John still couldn't. He was simply rendered speechless. Standing here in the darkness, listening to the younger mans heavy, hitching breaths – was Randy crying? – his mind tried to process and _accept_ Randys revelations.

_He loves me… he left Sam because he __**loves me**__… _

His sad little heart jumped in joy. Wasn't this what he'd wished for? Exactly that? Yeah. Hell, yeah! Then why the hell couldn't he believe it? Why the hell wasn't he able to say or do _anything_? Wasn't this the moment were he should jump right into that bed and kiss Randy senseless, like he'd wanted to al the time? To tell him that he loved, damn, really _really_ _loved_ him?

"I… can you please say something? I mean, if you hate me know, it's okay. I don't deserve any better," Randy said quietly, his voice close to fail him. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry. So damn sorry for everything. I never wanted to hurt you, Johnny. All I wanted was to be close to you…"

His voice broke and there it was again, those heavy, hitching breaths. John was sure now that Randy was crying and he felt a painful sting in his chest. He'd seen his friend cry before, but every time it was shocking to John, making him suffer with his friend…

_Oh, Randy… _

"I don't hate you, Randy. God, don't _ever_ think that," John finally managed to say. "It's just…We've been friend for such a long time and after years of having a crush on you and after the past month of more than just friendship I found myself wanting more. I thought I could stop myself but instead I realize that I'm in love with my best friend. The one person I can't have. And I have to admit that I've wished I could forget the way I feel about you. It would have been so much easier, so much less painful. But suddenly you're there, telling me that you left your family to be with me?"

His whole mind and body screamed to crawl into that bed and wrap himself around the man he was longing for, to hold him close and never ever let go. But no, not now, not yet. John willed himself to stay were he was until… yeah, until… what? Until he was sure Randy would stay? How could he be sure? He hugged himself, feeling insecure. A rare occurrence that was fortunately sheltered by the darkness.

"You don't know how much I wished this to happen. But now I'm somehow afraid… that if I let this happen now, if I put my heart on the line, you'll decide to got back to Sam and I'll be alone again. It would kill me. I don't know if I can do this."

As he stood there, feeling all insecure and vulnerable, he hoped that Randy would say something to make him believe that this was real, that it would work out. Closing his eyes he hoped, wished, _begged_ silently for Randy to _understand_…

"You really _love_ me?" Randy wanted to know, his low voice somehow loud in the darkness even as he whispered.

"So much it hurts."

_Please make the pain stop…_

John heard his friend taking a few deep breaths, obviously to calm down.

"I'm not going back. I'm not going to leave you, okay? I'm here because I want and need to be here," Randy reassured him. "I'm here because I love you, John."

His voice begged John to believe him, wrapping itself like a soft embrace of silk around Johns heart, soothing his pain. And John…

_If not now… _

… believed.

What could he loose? Everything. What could he gain? Everything and more. This was a step of believe…

"And… where does all this leave us?"

John knew it wasn't a fair question to ask. At least not _now_. Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking it. After all that had happened tonight and what had been said, he needed to ask, needed to _know_.

Instead of an answer he heard the rustling of bedcovers and saw Randy get up, padding over to were John stood. When the younger man stopped in front of him, they were close enough for John to make out the light blue eyes that wore a guarded expression, close enough to feel his friends warm breath on his face. And wasn't there a faint shimmer of tears on the tanned skin, silently asking to be taken care of, to be wiped away gently? But like so often this night John hesitated.

Then Randy reached out to cup Johns face with both hands and John felt frozen to the spot as his friend leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. Randys lips felt warm and so very soft against Johns. First only a touch of lips Randy began to deepen the kiss, softly running his tongue over Johns bottom lip, asking for permission that John gave. It was a tentative and shy kiss. In his need for comfort and touch, John reached up and buried his fingers in Randys shirt, pulling him a little closer, while he marvelled about how achingly good and right those lush lips on his own felt, how addictive Randy tasted.

The kiss didn't last very long and when it ended, they were standing close, bodies touching lightly, with Johns fingers still buried in Randys shirt, holding on for dear life. Randy rested his forehead against Johns.

"I think this is were it leaves us," the younger man whispered, his voice raw with emotions.

John moved even closer, pressing their bodies together.

Amazed about how their bodies fit together, he whispered back: "I think I like that. Very, _very_ much."

"Good, 'cause I'm gonna need you to help me tie up the loose ends of my life, Johnny. I'll need some time… Let's make this a new start."

"Means I'll have to ask you for a date?" John chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, exactly. You gonna have to whine and dine me. And I want a really good restaurant, not some cheap diner. Oh, and no sex until I'm sure that you not just want my body."

John smiled at the amusement-laced sound of his friends voice, though he knew Randy meant it. This was a complete reset. There would be dates and no sex at least for a while, which was okay, since he knew there would be incredible and mind-numbing sex in the future. Yeah, there would be – Randy wasn't the celibate-type-of-guy. And he really wanted this to work out. He knew it because in this very moment, with the perspective of having a real relationship with Randy, with all the ups and downs, he didn't feel like something was missing – right now he felt complete.

"As long as you allow me to be there for you and to hold you close I'm fine with anything," he said seriously.

Running a thumb along Johns jaw gently, Randy replied: "I hoped you'd say that. You don't know how much, Johnny."

John leaned into the touch, savouring the feeling of it, before he let go of Randys shirt and took hold of his hand instead, kissing his palm lightly.

"We both need to get some sleep. Let's got back to bed," he said and turned to leave, although everything in him protested against the loss of Randys touch, but it was probably the best to give him some time for himself… just in case…

Randy for his part obviously didn't think like that. John hadn't even reached the door, when Randy called his name. The normally strong, full voice sounded somehow small and afraid, making his name sound like a plea. John turned back immediately, not used to hear his name spoken like this.

"Stay. Please?" Randy asked in that small voice. "I… don't wanna be alone tonight."

John had an idea of what Randy meant. He was afraid that everything would come crashing down on him. The full extend of everything that had happened and would happen.

Sometimes the night could be a true friend, taking away the weight of problems, making everything seem so easy. But sometimes the night could be hell, when it turned all your fears and problems into a suffocating vision of a torturing future. John knew it. All too well.

"Hey, it's okay, Randy. I know. I'm staying," John murmured, padding back to his friend, leading him back to the bed.

They slipped under the blanket and settled into a comfortable position, face to face and legs entangled.

"Try to sleep. I'm not going anywhere," John assured him. "Promise."

Then he kissed Randys forehead, an innocent and infinitely tender gesture, before he pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his friend. And like this, with Randys head tucked under his chin and his warm body wrapped up safely in Johns arms, Randy finally found some sleep. John felt Randys heartbeat calm down, heard how his breaths evened out and smiled, realizing that he'd managed to give Randy some peace.

Wasn't it weird…? Up until tonight John had desperately wished for someone or something to give _him_ some peace. Him, who was hopelessly in love. And now? Now he was the one, giving peace and comfort.

His eyes caught a glimpse of the night sky through the blinds, making him remember about the falling star and his wish. He mouthed a silent _Thank_ _you_ to the stars, before his eyes found their way back to Randy.

John stayed awake for a while, watching over his friend and thinking again about the future, until he slipped into the first peaceful sleep after weeks himself.

o

It was already around 11 a.m. when awareness crept back into Johns mind and kicked him out of a fitful sleep. His hand roamed the place at his side and found it disappointingly empty but warm, telling him that Randy had left only a short while ago. He blinked himself a little more awake, rolled out of the bed and checked his condition – his head pounded and he felt a little wobbly, but at least he didn't feel like throwing up or something like that.

John hit the shower, got himself a few painkillers against the base-drum in his head and brushed his teeth with devotion, trying to wash away the nasty taste of morning breath and stale alcohol.

The he padded back to his own room, roaming his closet for some sweats and a fresh shirt, wondering if there was enough room for Randys things in the guest room. He felt suddenly pretty nervous about how Randy would react this morning. The last night had been real and John was sure that Randy had meant what he'd said, but there was still a small chance that Sam would convince him…

"Shit!"

The call! Randy wanted to call Sam today! Probably already had called her... John cursed himself and hurried down. He'd wanted to be with his friend since he knew Randy was afraid of what would be the outcome.

When he stepped into the living room, he found… himself greeted by an empty room. John frowned and padded over to the kitchen. No Randy. The kitchen was exactly how they'd left it. John went back into the living room, letting his eyes roam. No clothes, no cell, no bags… nothing that indicated that Randy was around.

"Randy?"

He listened, but there was no reaction. No sign that the younger man was somewhere in this house.

"Randy!"

Still no reaction. There had no one been upstairs. And obviously there was no one downstairs. No note in the kitchen or the living room. John pressed his lips together tightly. He was sure that he hadn't dreamt all this. His well-bandaged hand was the proof.

That meant… In a few quick strides John was at the front door, ripping it open. Gone. The truck. It was gone. _He_ was gone.

_No…_

He should have known it.

_No!_

Should have known that Randy wouldn't, _couldn't_ leave Sam, leave his daughter.

_Please…_

For an instant, he had to hold onto the door to keep himself from sinking to the ground as he felt a wave of agony flood his body. John bit back a pained sob and tears that threatened to fall and then… suddenly everything felt numb. He faintly registered that the door fell closed as he turned away.

His feet moved on their own accord to bring him back to his bedroom, where he stared a moment at bed, before he collapsed onto the side where Randy had slept. His smell still lingered there… And John broke down, curling up into a ball and burying his face in the pillow Randy had used, hot tears now pooling from his eyes.

And again, like that past, torturing days, he cried. This couldn't be. Randy had told him that he loved him. How could it end like that? It wasn't supposed to end like that. He cried out, dried Randys name. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair…

"John? What's wrong?"

It took a moment, before John realized that someone was in the room and another moment until his mind registered _who_ it was. Slowly he opened his eyes, afraid that he'd only imagined that voice. He hadn't. John sat up, the pillow hugged tightly against his chest. His blue eyes were wide, unbelieving, staring at his friend like he was an hallucination. Randy was here?

"Randy?" he whispered.

"What happened, Johnny?" the younger man asked worried, his narrowed eyes roaming John.

"You didn't leave a note. Your stuff and your car were gone. I… I thought that you might have decided to go back to Sam and… and…" John said, his voice breaking at the last words.

"Aaw, damn," Randy muttered, pissed with himself as he realized what John must've thought. "You know, I tried to wake you but you were so dead to the world. You wouldn't wake up. And then I wanted to make breakfast but all I found was an almost empty pack of weird coloured cereals. So I went to get some stuff. I thought I would be back in time so you could wake up to fresh coffee and pancakes. Okay, my pancakes probably aren't mind-numbing good, but they are way better than those weird cereals you got down there. You really eat that shit every morning? I mean, you could eat a bowl of sugar instead. You know that, right? We gotta talk about that, because I'm _not_ gonna eat that shit and…"

John sat there, pillow hugged to his chest, and watched wide-eyed as the younger man continued his speech, rambling something about bad food and too much sugar and his improving pancake-making-skills. He couldn't believe this. One second he felt like dying because he thought Randy was gone and the next second Randy was back, talking nonsense. Huh. He'd never seen a rambling Randy Orton before. It was funny, despite the situation. Yeah, funny. Surreal. The whole moment, completely surreal. And just too much.

While the tears kept coming, he felt a chuckle crawl up his throat and he couldn't help it, but it slipped past his lips and grew, morphed to a loud and maybe a little to hysterical laughter that held no mirth. Randys mouth snapped shut and he watched the older man with a worried expression in those icy eyes, moving to sit beside John on the bed, whose attempt to stop his hysterical attack failed miserably.

Then Randy wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders, pulling him in and holding him close, the low voice calming, trying to calm him down. John didn't hear the words, but let the familiar rumble wash over him. The laughter morphed to heavy sobs and he buried his face in the crook of Randys neck. He was a shaking, sobbing mess but he couldn't care less, because Randy was there, holding him close and more than words this embrace told him that everything would be okay. It would be okay…

It took a few minutes until John finally calmed down and when the sobbing stopped, the embrace loosened. Randy leaned back a little and peeled the pillow, that John still held tightly, out of his grasp. The older man tried to manage a smile and although it was small and shaky, it was real.

"I'm so sorry, John-John," Randy whispered, his voice something between being apologizing, tender, fierce and insecure. And wasn't there sadness, too?

John realized that, while Randy tried his best to reassure and comfort and be strong for him, Randy right now was on his own again to put up with this whole disaster. He'd promised Randy that he could count on him and now…

Just as John opened his mouth to apologize for letting him down and being a burden, Randy hushed him with a slight shake of his head, before leaning in to kiss him.

It was a kiss that made Johns head spin, a kiss that made it _clear_ that Randy would never, _ever_ leave him and John melted into it, trying to wrap this incredible feeling around them both like a cocoon to shut the world out. He felt Randy smile against his lips when he tried to literally crawl onto the younger mans lap.

Their kiss was interrupted by Randys cell that began to ring loudly and both of them jumped in surprise. Randy sighed and obviously decided not to answer the call as he leaned back in for another kiss. But his cell kept ringing.

John pushed him back a little and whispered against Randys lips: "I guess you better answer that call so we can discuss _this_," he gave him a sweet peck, "further."

Randy dug into a pocket of his cargo, found what he was searching for, flipped the cell open and tensed, staring at the small device. John felt his stomach churn when he saw sadness written all over the handsome features and a sudden pained expression in those beloved eyes. Randy looked up, giving him a sad smile.

It was the very moment that Randy closed his eyes and said in a strained voice: "It's Sam. John, I…"

John reached out for his friends free hand, intertwining theirs fingers, holding it tight and whispered: "You need to talk to her. I'm not gonna go anywhere, okay?"

Randys fingers closed tighter around his own and he felt himself being pulled closer when he finally answered the call. Fingers intertwined, thighs and shoulders touching Randys - that was how he remained while Randy threatened to fall apart during that call.

John did the only thing he could do – he waited, ready to catch him… so they could heal. Together.

~ Fin ~


End file.
